‘You don’t have to touch me,’ he said. ‘I’d rather take care of you.’ To show her what he meant, he touched her ankle, his hand stroking a path up to her knee.
The words struck her cold, and she frowned. ‘But why? Is there something wrong?’
He eyed her, his face masked as if he didn’t understand why she desired him.
‘Styr,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m not Elena. And I want to touch you. I need to.’
His skin revealed gooseflesh as the wind moved over him. Caragh placed her hands upon his shoulders, exploring his skin with her hands. He stiffened at the touch, but she massaged the skin, caressing him as she learned the planes of his body.
She replaced her hands with her mouth, kissing him the way she’d wanted to. It seemed so forbidden, to draw her mouth and tongue over the firm shoulders, her hands reaching forwards to touch his chest. He let out a hiss of air when her hands moved lower.
She held her hands upon his stomach, too nervous to dare any more.
‘My turn,’ he growled. His eyes were heated, and she hesitated to allow it.
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t start this now,’ she hedged.
‘You think I’ll give you a choice, søtnos?’ He moved to sit behind her, drawing her hips between his legs. She felt the undeniable heat of his erection against her spine.
Styr began with her hair, touching her scalp the way she’d touched him. His hands moved down to her neck, where he found the tension and gently worked out the knots. She leaned her head down, her hair falling over one shoulder. It was so relaxing, having him touch her in this way. But when she felt him loosening her gown more, she froze.
‘Don’t be afraid of me,’ he urged, and he lowered the gown to her waist. The wind blew over her bare breasts, making her nipples grow erect. His palms moved over her back, massaging warmth into her skin, drawing her beneath his spell.
And when he moved His hands over her breasts, she gave a cry, pushing back against his hips when he cupped her. His thumbs moved over her nipples, drawing out the tips and sending a rush of desire between her legs. She was wet, aching for him to fill her. With every caress of her breasts, she felt the answering throb between her legs. Her hands gripped his thighs, her body shaking as he palmed her, arousing her with only his hands.
She remembered the shocking heat of his mouth upon her nipple and how it had sent her past the brink. She wanted him desperately, but she hardly trusted herself around him. With Styr, the world dissolved, sending her spinning into sensations she’d only dreamed of. Caragh gripped his hands, pulling them away to free herself from the prison of desire.
He spoke to her in his native language, capturing her waist and turning her to face him. She tried to cover herself, but he captured her wrists.
‘Don’t hide your beauty from me.’
‘I’m not beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘I’m too thin.’
‘You were hungry,’ he corrected. ‘And that’s starting to change.’ His hand moved from her cheek, down lower, to the curve of her breast. ‘I’m not leaving you again, Caragh. If I have to steal you away from Éire, I will.’
She trembled as the wind caught up, cooling her skin. Styr drew her to him, until her bare breasts touched his chest. Both of them were cold, but the contact of his flesh only quickened her breathing.
‘You’re mine,’ he said, holding her to him with her head tucked beneath his chin.
I want to be. But the fears and uncertainties pushed to the surface of her courage. It would be so easy to simply open her arms to Styr, rejoicing in his return. Yet, she couldn’t forget the countless nights when she’d cried herself to sleep, mourning the loss of him. She’d become a hollow shell of a woman, hating the person she’d become.
She extricated herself from his embrace, pulling her gown back up. Taking a deep breath, she voiced the words that needed to be said. ‘But we still need to talk about what will happen to us if I cannot have children.’
‘We won’t know until we try.’
She took a breath, steadying herself. ‘Would you end our marriage?’
He stared at her, as if uncertain of what to say. His hesitation multiplied the fears inside her, but at last, he admitted, ‘Yes.’
The hurt balled up inside her, her throat closing up. She could not wed a man who wanted a child more than he wanted her.
‘It would be the right thing to do,’ he said quietly. ‘If I cannot give you a child, then I’ll let you go.’
His words were knives, slicing away at the tremulous fear within her. Did he truly believe that children were more important than all else? That she would want another man, all for the sake of a babe in her arms?
She tried to shield herself against the pain, voicing the other truth that plagued her. ‘If Elena were still carrying your child, you never would have left.’
His eyes grew harsh at the accusation. ‘What would you have me say?’ he demanded. ‘Never would I turn my back on my son.’
She had no answer for that. But she wanted so much more from Styr. She wanted him to love her, to be with her, even if there were never any children.
Was it worth risking her heart, knowing that he might break it a second time by leaving?
The heavy weight of silence spread between them, and she waited for him to speak, to say anything at all. She needed reassurance from him.
‘I love you,’ she said at last. ‘And I won’t lie to you. I do want a child. A son with your eyes, or a daughter with your smile.’
She reached out to touch his hand, and his arms stilled upon the oars. ‘But I won’t live from one month to the next, wondering if this will be the day when you leave me. I’d rather be alone than endure that heartache again.’
Styr spent the rest of the evening brooding among his men. He’d brought Caragh back to her home with all the gifts he’d given her, but his foul mood lingered.
Thor’s teeth, but women were impossible to understand. He’d come back to her, hadn’t he? Yet somehow what was supposed to be an afternoon spent in her arms had become an argument that twisted him into knots. He’d given her the truth, even if she hadn’t wanted to hear it.
If she wanted a babe and he could not give her a child, he’d rather release her from their marriage than have her look upon him with hatred. He cared about her too much, wanting only her happiness.
He wished he could find the right words—to talk to her, to tell her all the reasons why he wanted to be with her. Damned words were of no use to him. He didn’t know what to say or what she wanted to hear.
Styr rubbed the scar on the back of his head, unsure of what to do. But he wasn’t going to abandon this. Not yet.
They made camp and Onund went out to hunt. Styr had spitted a trout he’d caught and was waiting for the fish to cook.
‘May I join you?’ came the voice of a wizened old woman. He’d seen her before, but didn’t know her name.
Styr gestured for her to sit across from him, and she smiled, saying, ‘No, I can’t, my boy. If these old knees bend, they won’t get up again.’
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked, though he suspected that wasn’t the reason for her conversation.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I came to lend you my advice, since you’re failing in your quest.’
He